The sun hovered just above the jagged horizon, casting long, blood-orange shadows across the snow-covered field. The second leg of the conscription trials was over, and the third was about to begin. The sparring matches.
From the viewing platforms overlooking the combat rings, the four garrison commanders stood in formation, flanked by attendants and aides. The sky above Fort Stonereach was overcast, clouds rumbling faintly with distant thunder as if foreshadowing the violence about to unfold.
Sid stood quietly in the waiting ranks of conscripts. His head still ached from the mental overexertion during the cliff climb. Even now, mana pulsed dully behind his eyes, a persistent reminder of how close he had come to burning out.
But none of that mattered now. The field ahead was divided into several circular arenas, carved into the snow-dusted ground like ancient dueling grounds.
The recruits were divided and shuffled by lots. Noble crests glinted in the early rays of dawn as the scions of the northern houses stretched, whispered strategies, and adjusted their practice gear.
The atmosphere had changed. There was a hunger now, unmasked and fierce. This was where reputations were cemented, where bloodlines proved themselves.
"Let's see what you've all got," barked Commander Haldren, voice already echoing across the grounds. "If you've been coasting on titles and empty technique, today's the day we find out which of you can actually fight!"
"Spare us the theatrics, Haldren," Marshal Elira Thorne said with a wave of her hand. "The matches will reveal the truth. They always do."
General Varick Stormeater remained silent, his gaze already fixed on the match ups. His massive arms crossed, his presence felt like an immovable weight pressing against the crowd.
Scoutmaster Kelra sat on the edge of her seat with boots propped against the railing, eyes flicking from fighter to fighter with lazy precision. Her cloak fluttered in the northern wind, revealing the crest of her lesser but storied garrison.
Then came the entrance of the top contenders.
Vaelan Varron, youngest daughter of the Duke, stood expressionless at the edge of the sparring circle. Her silver braid swayed behind her, and her calm aura left a chill wherever she passed. Opponents shifted away from her instinctively. No one wanted to be her first match.
Eldan Bearmantle adjusted his thick gauntlets with a grin. Towering and broad-shouldered, he exuded physical dominance like a forge-born war god. Even among nobles, he looked like a wall with legs.
Lysette Coldmere sat near the edge of the ring, eyes closed. Her aura had begun to form condensation around her feet. Icy breath curled from her lips mirroring her platinum-blonde hair. She was uninterested in the crowd, as though the battlefield was already hers.
Tarn Greyreign stood among his cronies, lightning faintly crackling at his fingertips. He boasted to a cluster of lesser nobles, pointing and laughing as if this were still a gathering of bored aristocrats. When Lysette passed by without a glance, he scoffed.
"Acting high and mighty. We'll see how long that lasts."
These four young elites represent the young generation of the Northern Territories. The daughter of the Duke and the scions from three of the four main vassals beneath them. All of them boasted strength not far from mastery. All of them were using each other to sharpen themselves.
Nobility in the Thalarian Empire doesn't just mean wealth and land. Nobility was passed on to families that had a weapon grandmaster and archmages in their ancestry, receiving the grace of the Guardian God of the Empire, improving their bloodlines and engraving the powers and signature spells of those ancestral powers for their descendants to utilize.
The fights began.
The first several matches were scattered across the rings. Some ended in seconds. Others were drawn out slugfests.
Then came the first match of note: Vaelan Varron versus a young noble from the lesser house Hargal, wielding twin sabers.
From the first exchange, it was clear the boy was outclassed.
Vaelan advanced like a glacier in motion emitting a silent unstoppable force. Her spear snapped forward with frightening precision, but what made the proctors lean in was the frost trailing behind her every movement. Her control over her ice-aura was evolving, becoming denser with every second she fought.
The Varron family has two lineage abilities, one from their founder that mimicked the force of an avalanche while the other is matriarch who led the family four generations ago, which utilized stacking ice-aura to create a blizzard of destructive aura. Vaelan was born with the Avalanche but learned to incorporate her ice-aura into it to generate more force.
On her third clash, she feinted left, then froze the ground beneath her opponent with a wave of aura. The noble slipped, and before he could react, Vaelan lifted into the air using a compressed burst of aura and crashed down, the accumulated ice spiraling around her like a miniature avalanche.
The impact threw her opponent clear across the ring. He landed in a heap of powdery snow.
"She's compressing the aura in layers," Elira murmured. "Then using it to sling herself like a projectile."
"Smart girl," Kelra said, raising an eyebrow. "Gonna bruise a few skulls with that."
Like clockwork, Vaelan easily finished another contestant, a poor commoner that cursed as she saw her enemy. The fight was shorter than the last. For her final match, Vaelan faced off against Eldan Bearmantle himself.
"Thought you'd go easy on the little fish first," Eldan said with a booming laugh as they squared off. "Already frostbitten a few unlucky lads?"
"I save my efforts for worthy opponents," Vaelan replied coolly, her tone dry.
Eldan chuckled. "Still no sense of humor, Iceheart?"
The name drew a rare twitch from her eyebrow. "Still laugh at your own jokes, bearbrain?"
Their exchange drew curious murmurs from the crowd and a storm of anticipation.
The match began with a blur.
Eldan launched forward with a beast-like charge, his feet leaving furrows in the frozen ground. His family's lineage Crushing Paw activated, characterized with every movement producing shockwaves, every stomp sending tremors through the dirt. Ice cracked under his steps. Each vibration spreads, before rushing back to him, empowering his charge.
Vaelan didn't retreat. Instead, she released layers of ice-aura in bursts, shifting her angle mid-air, dodging Eldan's earth-shaking strikes. Spear and gauntlet clashed, causing bursts of pressure that rippled across the arena.
Throughout their exchange, the amount of times that Vaelan had hit Eldan far exceeded his attacks on her but if one were to just look at their expressions, one would mistake it to be the other way around.
Eldan's ability had been neutralizing the force of Vaelan's strike and channeling the force down to the ground beneath his feet. The way he shrugged off just about any attack on non-vital organs made him look like a berserker. Paired with the smile on his face, the crowd started to feel like the momentum of the battle is leaning towards his victory.
They exchanged earth-shattering blows, messing up the battlefield as each of their strikes dwarfed the power of the other trial takers. The on-site mages had reapplied the barrier around the arena four times already since the start the battle. All of them were begging in their minds for all of it to end already.
The audience were in awe. The commanders were quiet as they focused on each blow. Only the Lord Commander was smiling with glee, satisfied with the performance of his niece. Then came the finish.
Eldan struck down with both fists as Vaelan launched herself into the sky with a burst of aura. Her body shimmered with a halo of ice. For a heartbeat, she floated, poised like a divine executioner.
The tremors from Eldan's strike created waves on the icy floor, before it returned to him as he launched a fist to the skies. Vaelen met his attack as she dove down spear first, crashing down with a condensed storm of glacial energy that shattered the frost-lined ring.
Both fighters landed hard but only one rose.
Cheers erupted across the field.
Tarn Greyreign's face twisted. "Showoffs."
"Don't worry, lord Tarn. Surely, your performance would eclipse them all." one of his cronies said, as the others joined in.
"Don't state the obvious. Just tired of people acting like they're untouchable." Tarn clicks his tongue as his fiery gaze still trained on the arena.
From a distance, Sid watched.
Lysette Coldmere took the attention of the crowd next as her family's signature control of ice mana made use of the abundant ice mana in the air to control the battlefield. The Coldmere Family lineage ability, Frozen Circles, turn the mana circles in their hearts as active converters of free mana to ice mana, as they turn the area around them as frozen lands.
Her battles created new patches of snow and ice on the torn battlefield, adding more uncertainty into the battle. Lysette's control over ice mana also empowers the various spells she was casting. Her ability overwhelmed the ice mana in the air, bring it under her control.
With this immense advantage, the lesser noble and commoners that she faced were frozen from waist down as ice spires threatened their necks.
He'd seen it all before. From the back of academy classrooms, from training hall corners where no one looked twice. They had always stood in the light, while he had watched in the shadow they cast. He was no prodigy. No chosen heir.
But his eyes worked just fine.
And today, he would a chance to showcase what he can do.